


Rule 39

by quokkall



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, April Showers 2015, F/M, TIVA - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3837430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quokkall/pseuds/quokkall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Tony and Ziva meet after a mix-up at the airport. They end up working together and Ziva learns the rules along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rule 39

**Author's Note:**

> AU set at the beginning of season 3, Kate and Ari didn't happen, though.

It was 1 AM on the dot when Tony turned the key and opened his front door. All he wanted to do was sleep for 3 days straight. Unfortunately for him, he was expected back at the Navy Yard in about 6 hours. He could be late of course, wouldn’t be the first time. His coworkers would understand. He just spent a week partying in Tel Aviv with his frat brothers, they couldn’t expect him to snap into work mode the second he set foot on American soil, could they? And well, even if they did, the head slap he’d surely receive from his boss for being late might actually keep him awake for the rest of the day. 

Dropping his duffel bag next to the couch, he walked to his fridge, stomach growling. Empty, of course. He remembered throwing out some week old take-out boxes, the only thing the fridge contained besides two bottles of wine, before his trip. If he hadn’t they probably would’ve walked out on their own when he opened the door just now. Pizza would probably not agree with him at this hour, but he was starving damnit; apparently he’d fallen asleep when dinner was being served on the plane and the flight attendants didn’t want to wake him. So he grabbed his phone and ordered a pepperoni from Luigi’s, who assured him it would be there in fifteen minutes.

While yawning loudly – maybe McGee was right, maybe he was getting to old for spring break – he filled a glass of water and half-sleepwalked towards the couch. Dragging the duffel bag onto the couch, he tore of the labels and haphazardly threw them in the direction of the coffee table. He’d promised to get Abby and McGee some typical Israeli souvenirs and figured he better put them in his work bag now so Abby wouldn’t badger him all day for forgetting them. When he made the promise he’d been pretty clueless as to what “typical Israeli” was supposed to be. A jar of sand? Water from the Dead Sea? 

To be honest, he hadn’t been sold on the idea of a vacation in Israel until one of his buddies mentioned half naked female soldiers on the beach. As it turned out he found something in a gift shop next to the hotel on the very first day. Unzipping the duffel bag to remove the gifts, his eyes went wide as he looked inside. He supposed the 3 handguns, assortment of knives, and lightweight bullet proof vest he saw could be considered typically Israeli, but he was pretty sure these weren’t the gifts he’d packed.

*** 

Already running late due to a delayed flight, Ziva raced straight from the airport to the Israeli Embassy, leaving a cacophony of car horns and screeching tires in her wake. As the Mini that Mossad had leased for her came to a screeching halt in front of the embassy, she briefly checked the clock; 0045. Late, but Officer Bashan would still be waiting for her with the necessary papers for the liaison position she started tomorrow, well, today actually, and the key to an apartment.

She grabbed her duffel bag from the passenger seat and went inside, wondering why the bag felt a little lighter than she expected it to. She certainly hadn’t noticed picking it up at the luggage belt. Then again, she had been somewhat distracted by the torn remains of the label and the hard time airport security had given her about the gun and knife she’d traveled with, even though she could provide the required unique identifier code. Maybe she just wasn’t used to the weight of the bag yet. The one she’d traveled with for years had gotten lost somewhere in Cairo, during her last mission which had ended only 2 days earlier. As she waited for Officer Bashan to call her into his office she unzipped the bag to remove the gift she brought for the ambassador, and muttered a few choice words in Hebrew as she removed a portable DVD player and a number of DVD’s.

15 minutes later, files, key and bag in hand, she rushed to her car, threw everything on the passenger seat and sped off to the address she had found in a side pocket of the bag. She hoped this Tony DiNozzo was home. And that he hadn’t opened her bag. She still had to go over the files of the federal agents she would start working with, the last thing she needed was to spend the rest of the night at the police station trying to retrieve her stuff because a concerned citizen called the cops over a couple of guns.  


***

As soon as Tony realized he’d grabbed the wrong bag from the luggage belt, he’d looked for the labels he’d thrown away. Picking them up off the floor where they’d landed, he read, “Israeli Embassy, Washington DC”. Nothing else. No name. Not even a phone number. In short, not very helpful. He was pretty sure nobody at the Embassy would be interested in lost luggage retrieval at this time of night. But at least he was now somewhat reassured that he wasn’t dealing with the luggage of a deranged terrorist. Turning the labels over and over in his hands he wondered what kind of a person, with obvious diplomatic ties, would travel from Israel to Washington DC, carrying a small armory. The only thing he could come up with that made any sense to him, was a Mossad Officer.

 

His mind, wide awake after discovering the guns, drifted off to spy movies and a documentary he once saw about Nazi hunters. Imagining a very disgruntled middle-aged, inconspicuous looking man, probably wearing fake, thick rimmed glasses, he wondered if he would get to meet the guy personally. It would make for an intriguing ending to his trip to Tel Aviv.

He was just about to unload the rest of the luggage on his coffee table when there was a knock at the door. His stomach growled in response and he completely forgot about the possibility of meeting up with a spy from one of the most notorious agencies in the world when he opened the door.

“I can honestly say, you’re the hottest pizza delivery boy I’ve ever seen,” he grinned, the trademark smile that always seemed to work with the ladies in place. “Though, now that I think about it, that’s not that much of a compliment. I’m sure I can come up with something better. Why don’t you give me your phone number and I’ll give you a call when I do.” He waggled his eyebrows for good measure, completely missing the narrowing of eyes and jutting of chin of the girl in front him. Not to mention the lack of a pizza box.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me,” she stated, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. She didn’t have the time or patience to deal with a sexist buffoon right now.

“Hey, I’m all yours, baby,” he leered and slowly looked her up and down.

“Do lines like that actually work on American women?” She would be working in the US for several months, at least, so she supposed now was as good a time as any to learn more about the archetypal American male.

He snorted a little and said, “Only the ones I don’t plan on seeing more than once.” 

Ziva huffed, rolled her eyes and shoved the duffel bag against his chest. His arms closed around the bag, even though his brain was otherwise preoccupied. She was feisty. He liked that. And he liked her accent, he’d gotten used to hearing it this past week. Wait…the bag. The guns. His smile faltered as his brow furrowed. This couldn’t be…the imaginary Mossad Officer?

She smirked at the look on his face, “I assume you opened my bag.” 

His mouth opened and closed and he quickly glanced behind him towards the couch and coffee table, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His initial idea of inviting the gorgeous woman in became even more exciting once he realized those were her weapons spread out on his coffee table. He was a sucker for girls with guns. Particularly if they looked like Bond girls, he thought, giving her another once over. The wrinkled camo pants and sand colored jacket wouldn’t normally catch his interest, but they made her appearance even more intriguing. And well, he was sure he didn’t look his best after traveling for almost 18 hours.

“Tony DiNozzo,” he said, million dollar smile back in place, as his eyes landed on hers again.

“I know,” she drawled. At his look of confusion, she jutted her chin in the direction of the bag he was still clutching to his chest.

“Oh, right.”

“Look, I could stay and flirt with you all night, but I am quite frankly not in the mood. And from the way you have been looking at me I am pretty sure you already have enough material for a soaked dream.”

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it in confusion. He grinned when it dawned on him what she had meant to say, “You mean wet dream.”

“Same difference. My bag, please.”

Instead of acknowledging what she just said, he kept staring her straight in the eye, thinking about all the things he could possibly dream about tonight, the things he wanted to do to her, with her. And yes, part of him hoped he could get under her skin, because she looked like a tough nut to crack, and he liked a good challenge. Her only response was to lift her chin ever so slightly and stare right back. As the tension became more palpable, he noticed her pupils were dilated, but then again, he was sure his were the size of saucers, so that wasn’t exactly a win in his book.

After several minutes of neither giving in, his ringing cell phone broke the silence, but not the eye contact. She raised an eyebrow noticing he wasn’t planning on answering his phone immediately. 

“It might be one of those women you do not plan on seeing again. If you want to get…” she tilted her head to the side, looking for the correct word, “ _lucky_ tonight you should probably get that,” she said in a honeyed voice while moving into his apartment and heading towards the coffee table. 

He grinned as he noticed that there was room for her to enter his apartment without the need to brush her body against his. Not that he was complaining. As he watched her check each weapon methodically, before placing it back into the duffel, he went to answer his phone.

“Finally! Why is your cell phone off?” McGee said. And before Tony could reply that he had forgotten to turn it back on when he landed, he continued, ”Nevermind. Gibbs wanted me to let you know that if you’re even 5 seconds late, you’ll be in a world of pain for the rest of the week.” _Well, so much for that plan_ , he thought absentmindedly, looking at the Israeli. He briefly wondered why he wasn’t more worried about the fact that there was a complete stranger handling lethal weapons in the middle of his living room.

“I’m surprised you didn’t keep this information to yourself, probie. You never seem to mind me getting chewed out,” he replied distractedly, admiring the Israeli’s behind as she bent over to pick something up off the floor. 

“If you get punished you’ll just take it out on me,” McGee grumbled.

“True,” he answered with some glee. “Hey, wait! You never told me your name. I don’t even have your phone number, what if you forgot something at my apartment tonight,” he blurted out, completely ignoring the phone, as he saw her walk out the door, lifting his right arm as if to stop her.

She glanced over her shoulder, smiled enigmatically and closed the door behind her. His face fell along with his extended arm. The one time he meets a girl that actually intrigued him beyond the usual ‘I wonder what she looks like naked’ and he has no way to contact her.

“Ugh, you’re disgusting, DiNozzo. You spent a whole week chasing women on a different continent, you can’t spend one night on your own?” McGee grated in his ear. Tony felt slightly annoyed that McGee assumed he caught the tail end of another one night stand. He supposed his reaction wasn’t uncalled for with his track record, but the woman he’d just met was definitely not one night stand material.

“You’re just jealous,” he replied, trying to keep irritation from seeping into his voice. He could hear McGee huff at the other end of the line.

“Oh, before I forget, according to this morning’s scuttlebutt, the new director appointed a Mossad Officer to join our team as a liaison. That could get interesting, right? See you at the office.”

“Wait, what-,” Tony replied confused, but McGee had already ended the call. He lowered the phone and stared at the door contemplating rule 39; there’s no such thing as coincidence.


	2. Rule 12

As Ziva walked up to her car, she couldn’t help but think there was something about this DiNozzo. He was attractive, yes, though she had a feeling she should never admit that, he would hold it over her head forever. Wait, she wasn’t going to see him again, was she? Relationships only complicated things, and she didn’t even know anything about him. Hooking up with strangers was never a good idea in her line of business. Particularly not after the lecture the deputy directory had given her after her last mission.

She got in her car and glanced at the building she’d just exited. Wondering. There had been something about the way he looked at her. Underneath the leering looks he had given her. _No_ , she decided, _not worth it_. She had really infuriated the deputy director when she had followed her gut instead of his orders, during her last mission. He would undoubtedly place her under surveillance now, at the very least for the first couple of weeks, and she didn’t feel like explaining why she was visiting a complete stranger in the middle of the night. It didn’t help that the deputy director was her father. Their relationship had been strained for years. The NCIS liaison position was more punishment than promotion. Yes, it would be far less dangerous, but for a Komemiyut member it felt like a PR job. She understood why her father was always extra hard on her, though; he didn’t want anyone in Mossad to think he was doing his daughter any favors. Not just because he would lose respect, but also because he knew the other officers wouldn’t respect her and value her skills.

Arriving at her destination, she quickly inspected the sparsely decorated apartment and deposited the files on the kitchen table. She opened the first file, Leroy Jethro Gibbs. She remembered the stories her friend Jenny Shepard, who was now the director of NCIS, had shared with her about Gibbs. After reading the file she had a feeling they would work well together.

As she opened the next file and her eyes landed on the photo of a now familiar face, a smile crept across her lips and twinkle appeared in her eyes. Staring back at her was Anthony DiNozzo jr. with a smile she would recognize anywhere. Truth be told, that picture would’ve been better suited for a toothpaste ad, than a work file. He obviously knew he looked good and wasn’t shy about it.

When they met half an hour ago, she didn’t have him pegged as law enforcement. She was usually good at reading people, which made discovering that he was a senior field agent all the more intriguing. She read the rest of the file with great detail; grew up on the East Coast, wealthy family, high recommendations from Philadelphia and Baltimore PD, undercover assignment with the mob, respects authority figures, though he does have a habit of being a blabbermouth. Seen with several different women since surveillance started. She smirked at that, at least she hadn’t read him completely wrong. This could get interesting.

Doing her best to ignore the excitement that ran through her at discovering she would be working with him, she decided then and there that she would do everything she could to get under his skin and make him squirm.

***

Tony arrived at the bullpen at half past 6, after only a few fitful hours of sleep. All of his dreams had involved a certain Israeli that had showed up at his doorstep unexpectedly. None of them had been “soaked” though, he snickered remembering her earlier mistake. He eagerly looked around to see if his gut feeling had been correct, that she would be the Mossad Officer joining their team. He appeared to be the first of his team to have arrived, though, he was pretty sure Gibbs was somewhere lurking in the shadows to show up when least expected. Apart from the clacking of a keyboard in the far corner, the bullpen was quiet.

Dropping his bag behind his desk, he put his gun and badge in the top drawer and shed his jacket, looking up just in time to see McGee stepping out of the elevator.

“Morning, McTardy,” he grinned.

McGee looked around confused and checked his watch. “Why are you this early? And why do you look so exhausted, did that girl keep you up all night after all?” There was no malice in his voice this time, just genuine confusion.

“First of all, you told me to be early—“

“No, I told you not to be late,” McGee interrupted.

Tony waved his hand dismissively, “Second, yes. Just not in the way you’re thinking.” He stepped a little closer and looked around, as if to check if anyone was eavesdropping, despite knowing full well there was only one other agent in the office. “You’re not gonna believe what happened to me last night after I landed—“

“I’m tired of hearing every little detail about your one night stands, Tony,” he objected.

“Hey, McInterrupt, this had nothing to do with a one night stand okay,” he said a little too loudly, the clacking keyboard in the corner halted. “Anyway, I didn’t get much sleep because I kept dreaming about this really hot girl that showed up at my apartment last night,” he continued in a low voice.

“Were they wet dreams?” a husky voice from right behind him came.

He yelped and whirled around, clutching a hand to his chest.

“Don’t ever do that again. You almost gave me a heart attack.” He said staring straight at the object of his dreams. _How had he not heard her walk into to the bullpen?_

“It would not be the first time I gave a man a heart attack,” she said as if she was discussing a grocery list.

He frowned. “You mean you broke his heart?” he tried hesitantly, remembering her language mix-up from earlier.

She tilted her head and thought for a couple of seconds, “No, not heartbreak, heart attack. His heart stopped beating.”

He took a step back and looked at her sideways, then quickly glanced at McGee, to gauge his reaction. Apparently the probie was more amused by his reactions than by the gorgeous stranger admitting to, what, having killed someone?

Now that there was more than 2 feet of distance between them, Ziva gave him the once-over, a bit disappointed to see he had shaved. The shoulder holster he was wearing made up for it, though. He didn’t seem overly muscular, but looking at his broad shoulders and chest made her lose her train of thought for a second. She faked indifference and was about to explain the man was not dead, that the interrogation continued for several more hours after reviving him, when movement behind Tony caught her eye.

“Shalom, Ziva” the director said as she walked towards them. A smile formed on Ziva’s face as she returned the sentiment and stepped away from Tony to greet her friend. Seeing them kiss each other on the cheek with great familiarity, Tony’s eyebrows shot up with interest.

Jenny then turned towards Tony and asked him where Gibbs was, but before he had a chance to answer, the smell of coffee wafted closer to the group, followed by the agent in question. Instead of uttering a verbal greeting, Gibbs merely nodded his head and sipped his coffee. While the director made introductions, Ziva examined the team dynamics. The cold hard stare she received from Gibbs made it clear that she was going to have to work hard to earn his trust. At the mention of her earlier position with Komemiyut, McGee’s face blanched in fear, DiNozzo’s brow furrowed slightly—it wasn’t a very well-known division, after all—and Gibbs’s stare became even colder.

Once the director left, Gibbs looked her straight in the eye and said, “I need an investigator, not an assassin. You’re just observing for now.” She nodded her understanding, as Gibbs pointed in the direction of the empty desk next to his.

***

The morning went by pretty uneventful. Gibbs dropped a pile of files on DiNozzo’s desk. DiNozzo in turn dropped them on McGee’s desk, who glanced at Ziva, wondering whether it was a good idea to hand them down to the new probie. He decided it probably wasn’t when she stared back with a blank expression and he remembered she was an assassin. Sighing, he opened the top file and briefly wondered if Mossad assassins had to do as much paperwork as NCIS agents.

As soon as Gibbs disappeared, probably on another coffee run, Tony was out of his chair, standing in front of Ziva’s desk.

“We got off on the wrong foot,” he said. “I’m not usually a sexist buffoon.”

“Yes, you are,” McGee piped in from behind him.

“Nobody asked you, probie,” Tony said, shooting daggers in his direction. He tried to clarify himself, “I’m not a sexist buffoon with the people I work with.”

“I talked to Stacy from HR the other day, according to her your personnel file is bursting out of it’s folder with complaints from coworkers you were ‘not a buffoon with’,” McGee casually threw in.

Ziva couldn’t help but smile, she could see there was more to McGee than the shy geek she first took him to be. He would come in handy if she needed ammo to put DiNozzo in his place. She turned her attention back to the agent in front of her desk.

“Fine!” he gritted in McGee’s direction, then turned back to find Ziva staring at him with an amused expression on her face. “I’ll do my best to refrain from sexual innuendo when I’m around you.”

She smirked, gave him the elevator eyes and asked, “Does that mean I cannot make sexual comments about you? Are there rules against that?”

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times like a goldfish. Then when he saw her bat her eyes at him and put on an innocent smile, he regained some composure. This partnership was going to be very interesting. None of his former female work partners were able, or willing, to put up with his juvenile antics and put him in his place. Without running to Gibbs or HR, that is. It looked like he finally met his match in Ziva.

“Oh, there are lots of rules. But the only ones you really need to remember are Gibbs’ rules.”

“Good, then where can I find these rules? Is there a list on the intranet?”

He chuckled, turned to McGee and said, “You hear that, probie? New probie wants to know if there’s a list.” He turned back to her adding dead seriously, shaking his head, “There’s no list.”

He was slightly taken aback by the look of pure irritation she was giving him. Was it something he said?

“Do not call me that again unless you want me to staple your mouth shut.”

“What? Probie?” he inquired, involuntarily touching his lips.

“I once killed a man with a credit card, I am not a probie.”

His eyes went wide and he nodded his head in agreement with great zeal.

“So how am I supposed to know these rules if there is no list?” she questioned.

“You pretty much learn them by breaking them,” he shrugged, still wondering how she was able to switch moods so fast.

“That makes no sense.” Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why have neither of you made a list, you have worked with Gibbs for many years,” she said looking between DiNozzo and McGee.

“Well, we don’t know all the rules either,” McGee said

“But I suppose in the interest of inter agency cooperation we could tell you some of the more important ones,” Tony added.

“Rule 1: Never let suspects stay together,” McGee started.

“ _And_ , never screw over your partner,” Tony added.

Ziva quirked an eyebrow looking at Tony, “There is more than one rule 1?”

“Yeah, I think Gibbs was creating so many rules he got confu—“ Ziva cringed at the head slap Tony had just received from their boss. She watched Tony move his head from left to right, checking for damage, while Gibbs silently went to sit at his desk, sipping a steaming cup of coffee.

***

Shortly before noon Ziva was called into MTAC. As she descended the stairs half an hour later, the smell of food made her stomach growl. She saw McGee and Gibbs, both with a sandwich in hand, leave in opposite directions. Tony was standing next to his desk, still unwrapping his sandwich when she came to a stop in front of him, first eying the sandwich, then him.

“Did you not buy me food because I am new?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’d be more than happy to make up for it over dinner,” he smirked.

“It is fine,” she said in a honeyed voice, “I will just share your lunch.”

She grabbed his hand and the sandwich in both of hers and took a big bite. Her eyes closed momentarily, enjoying the flavors, but they held a mischievous twinkle when they opened to gauge his reaction.

His facial expression was an odd mixture of shock and disgust; DiNozzo’s don’t share food. “I’m pretty sure a cheesesteak isn’t kosher,” he grumbled.

She slowly let her gaze run down his body, licked her lips and said, “I do not keep kosher.”

He let go of the sandwich, scrunched up his nose and feigned to have lost his appetite. It was only partially a lie; his hunger for food had been replaced with a completely different type of hunger after the look Ziva had given him.

***

When Tony came back from autopsy with the file Gibbs had asked for, his stomach started growling. The uncomfortable feeling made him look across the bullpen to the reason why his stomach was protesting. Ziva seemed oblivious to his reappearance and continued typing away furiously on her computer. A few seconds later an instant message popped up on his computer screen.

_check your top drawer_

He looked at Ziva again, narrowing his eyes. What was she up to?

Rolling his chair away from the desk, you never knew with Mossad assassins after all, he slowly opened the drawer and found … a muffin. He looked up in surprise. Ziva’s eyes were still glued to her computer screen.

_thought you might be hungry considering I ate your lunch_

A small smile crept on his lips. He looked from the message, to the muffin, to Ziva and narrowed his eyes again. The corners of her mouth curled upwards ever so slightly and her typing speed appeared to have slowed down. He turned towards his keyboard.

_is it booby-trapped?_

She rolled her eyes, sent a hard look his way and continued typing a report for Mossad. From the corner of her eye she saw Tony pick up a ruler, roll his chair even further back and use the ruler to poke inside the drawer.

_it is not rigged, tony_

He read the message, placed the muffin on his desk, then looked at her while tapping the end of the ruler against his lips in contemplation.

_it is also not poisoned_

He raised an eyebrow and wondered whether Mossad officers could read minds.

_will you just eat my muffin!_

Her exasperated look gave way to one of confusion when she heard the ruler clatter to the floor and saw Tony suddenly sit at attention staring at his computer screen. His eyes slowly found hers across the bullpen and she noticed, even from that distance, that his pupils had dilated. The look he gave her made her frown deepen even more. His slightly parted lips, turned into a sly smile. She narrowed her eyes at him when she saw him turn his attention to his computer and begin to type.

_I would love to, but I’m pretty sure the boss man would have a problem with me eating your muffin in the middle of the bullpen_

She mouthed a silent “what” as she read his message. She glanced at Gibbs to her left, then at Tony who was apparently trying hard to keep a straight face. Confused and a bit irritated at not understanding what kind of game Tony was playing, she turned back to her computer. Thinking it must have had something to do with what she had written, she opened a browser and typed in “eat my muffin meaning”. Her eyes went wide and lips parted. She involuntarily glanced at Tony and saw his smirk widen when he realized she’d figured out the double meaning. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

_Damn English, why did everything have to have more than one meaning_. She focused her attention on the screen again, reread the explanation and briefly closed her eyes as thoughts of Tony’s face between her legs flooded her brain, and, well…other parts of her body.

Closing the browser window, she brought up the instant messenger again.

_then perhaps in future I will bring my muffin to your apartment_

He was still staring at her when she looked at him seductively. Dragging his eyes away from her to look at his screen, he licked his bottom lip and then drew it between his teeth. This was escalating quickly. He briefly wondered if he should ask McGee if instant messages were stored somewhere in the dark recesses of the IT department. His stomach protesting loudly brought him back to the present, though, focusing his attention on the muffin on his desk. Licking his lips again, he gazed at her and slowly removed the wrapper, never taking his eyes of her. Her eyes kept dancing from his hands, to his mouth, to his eyes. Pleased with the attention she was giving him, he broke off a piece of the muffin and slowly brought it to his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers. That is, until his lips closed around the baked goods and he closed his eyes in mock-ecstasy, exclaiming, “Oh Ziva, your muffin tastes so good!”

McGee’s head snapped around so fast it could’ve given him whiplash and his wide eyes skated from Tony, to Ziva, to Gibbs and back to Tony. Gibbs on the other hand, first eyed Tony slowly, who had gone from breaking off morsels to pretty much shoving his face into the small cake he was holding; to Ziva, who sat even more rigid than before, typing on her keyboard. He could very faintly see the corner of her mouth twitch and was pretty sure she hadn’t blinked in the last 40 seconds he’d been staring at her. He squinted, _is she blushing_?

Gibbs turned his attention back to Tony—now licking his fingers one by one with gusto—did his best to resist the urge to give his senior field agent a head slap for behaving like a 12 year old, and concentrated on his computer.

A minute later a pop up message appeared on both Tony and Ziva’s screens:

_rule 12_

 

 


	3. Rule 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you for all the reviews, follows and favorites, and for just reading, of course. This is a short one, but I hope you'll still enjoy it.

They were called into work the next day at five AM, dead petty officer in Rock Creek Park. Tony and McGee picked her up in the van and after parking and getting their things from the back of the van, Ziva mentioned it looked like a good place to go running. When both McGee and DiNozzo started laughing at her she looked at them bewildered.

"I hope you like hurdling, because you'll be jumping over corpses half the time. This is a popular dumping ground for bodies," Tony said. She wasn't entirely sure whether he was joking or not, but the look on McGee's face told her he wasn't.

They walked up to Gibbs, who without so much as a greeting confiscated her weapons, reminding her that she was there to observe. He returned her knife though, adding a gruff "Rule 9", and she figured that would be more than enough protection in a US park. Especially one crawling with police and federal officers.

Gibbs sent her along with McGee to learn how to bag and tag, while Tony was directed to questioning witnesses. Knowing how unreliable witnesses were, she didn't envy his job as she watched him walk off, phone to his ear.

DiNozzo didn't seem to mind, though. Less than 2 minutes later he was casually leaning against a lamp post, pen and notebook in hand, questioning a scantily clad female jogger. It's not that hot, she thought, then realized it would take her some time to get used to the colder Washington DC weather.

He was grinning at the blonde, occasionally tapping the pen against his lips while giving her a flirtatious look. Ziva could hear McGee beside her explain a bunch of stuff about tagging, but her eyes kept studying their SFA. At this point, the witness had practically glued herself to his body and was writing something down on his notepad. They parted ways, DiNozzo leering at the woman's retreating back. As he began walking over to Gibbs, she could see his face become serious. Although it was hard to read Gibbs, she got the impression he approved of whatever Tony was telling him, right before his phone started ringing again.

_There was definitely more to this DiNozzo than met the eye_ , she thought and wondered what he was hiding behind that flippant exterior.

Turning her full attention on McGee, she accepted the gloves he was holding out for her after he told her rule 2 was to always wear gloves at a crime scene. Although some of these rules made sense, she had a feeling it would not be long until they started to annoy her.

-0-

Late in the afternoon, she found McGee in the break room, pouring himself another cup of coffee. She walked up to his back and asked, "What exactly is rule 12?"

Startled, he spilled coffee on his shirt as he turned to look at her. Ziva took a napkin and dabbed at the stain while looking up at him sweetly. He had been intimidated by her at the crime scene all morning, not feeling very confident having to tell a Mossad officer what to do. Not that she'd been unfriendly or anything, but the glint in her eye when Gibbs returned her knife had made him a little wary.

And then there were all the questions she'd asked him about his personal life. Oddly enough, occasionally he'd had the feeling she already knew the answer. Even to the more personal ones, like whether he was seeing anyone special.

Her Mona Lisa smile combined with those personal questions and now her probing about rule 12, gave him such mixed feelings, all he could do was stammer like a fool. _She couldn't possibly be interested in him, could she?_ She had seemed mostly focused on getting under DiNozzo's skin yesterday. He was still stammering when DiNozzo walked in.

"Did you forget your sippy cup again, little Timmy?" Tony belittled, grinning at the coffee stain on McGee's shirt.

"That was entirely my fault," Ziva explained, keeping her eyes on McGee. "I scared him when I asked him about rule 12."

"Oh Timmy," Tony patted him on the shoulder, "I'd be worried about Gibbs killing you for thinking about breaking rule 12, but in this case, I'm more worried about the new co-worker killing you after breaking rule 12," Tony said with a sly smile on his lips.

"Rule 12 is about killing co-workers?" Ziva questioned, looking at Tony who was still focused on McGee.

"Why would you even jump to that conclusion," he turned towards her baffled. "Rule 12 is never date a co-worker." He narrowed his eyes at her, then grinned, "I figured Gibbs sent you the same message."

"What message?" McGee asked looking at both of them. "Something about the case? "

They just ignored him.

"So these rules…are they actual rules or more like guidelines?" she questioned with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Breaking them is usually followed by a head slap or death glare," he sized her up. "Hey probie, Abby's looking for you," he quickly added, not taking his eyes of her. Out of the corner of his eye he could see McGee glance at Ziva, then at him, only to run off in the direction of the elevator.

"Those are hardly punishments," she scoffed.

Tony was about to reply when his phone rang.

All he heard was a barked "Where the hell are you!" before the line went dead again. He smiled a little self consciously. "That was Gibbs. He politely requested my presence in the bullpen."

"Really? He does not strike me as the type to request things politely," she quipped. "You know, I have been observing you all day and—"

"I'm flattered," he cut her off.

"Do not be, Gibbs's orders were to observe," she deadpanned. "Do you ever let a phone call go to voicemail? Or are you worried you will miss a booty call?"

He chuckled and wagged a finger at her. "Rule 3, never be unreachable."

"Does that rule count for Gibbs only or also for booty calls?"

"Just Gibbs."

She slowly brushed past him on her way back to the bullpen and with a roguish expression on her face said, "Hmm, pity."


	4. Rule 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter. Tony and Ziva are on a stakeout and end up bending some rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I was cleaning up my hard drive and stumbled across this chapter. I wrote it early June last year and remember giving up on editing and publishing it due to severe cognitive problems (that unfortunately haven't cleared up all that much as it turns out). 
> 
> It's a bit different from the previous chapters. Personally, I'm not sure how I feel about it, though I'm pretty sure I should've deleted at least one part of the story...I'll let you be the judge. Hope you enjoy the read, let me know what you think.

“My ass is starting to fall asleep,” Tony whined.

Ziva closed her eyes for a second. “I wish your mouth was starting to fall asleep,” she snapped.

His eyebrows raised at the tone of her voice and he slowly turned to look at her. It had been the first sentence she uttered in the last hour of a stakeout that had started five hours ago. Apparently she was channeling Gibbs with her one sentence per hour ratio. As usual, he’d more than made up for the silence. Judging from the scowl on her face as she kept staring at the warehouse, that had been a bit of a mistake.

“Are you implying I talk too much?” He cringed inwardly when she turned to look at him with a murderous look on her face. _Why did he always have to put his foot in his mouth and make things worse._

“No, I was referring to your eating habits,” she deadpanned. “What do you think!” Frustration dripped from her voice.

“There is nothing wrong with my eating habits.” Now that he had her talking, he was determined to keep it that way.

She huffed and pointedly looked at the ketchup stain on his shirt.

“Hey, we’re in a car, there’s not exactly a lot of room for table manners.”

“That does not explain why you dropped a box of chow mein in your lap at your desk yesterday.”

“I…,” he tried to remember the incident, “Gibbs head slapped me!”

“Oh yeah…,” she smirked and turned her attention back to the warehouse.

“I’ll have you know I’m very good with my mouth. Talking, eating…extracurricular activities. They should give me a phd, really. I’d be more than happy to give you a demonstration when—”

Her hand on his right bicep stopped his train of thought. Looking from her hand to her face he felt the mood in the car turn serious. Her nostrils were flared and eyes narrowed at something she had picked up on in the darkness outside. Something was finally happening.

Following her gaze, he saw a male figure that fit the description of Holden, the petty officer they were investigating on human trafficking charges, walking towards the warehouse. Next to Holden was a young girl, couldn’t have been older than 14. Her hands were tied in front of her, Holden roughly pulling her with him as he kept looking around suspiciously.

From the corner of his eye he saw Ziva reach for the door handle at the same time the warmth of her hand left his arm. “Wait!” he hissed and grabbed her forearm.

She looked at the hand restricting her, then shot daggers at him with her eyes.

“We can’t just run in there, it would compromise the whole operation. We need to get to the ones in charge. We don’t even know for sure how many are in the warehouse and how heavily armed they are,” he tried to reason with her, but the cold look on her face told him he was failing miserably.

“Do you have any idea what happens to new girls in a trafficking ring?”

He clenched his jaw and tried not to think about it. He didn’t have a lot of experience with human trafficking operations, or their victims, but the look in Ziva’s eyes told him she knew exactly what would happen in there if they did nothing.

“At least let me call for backup first.” The second he let go of her arm to grab his phone she was out the door. “Dammit, David,” he mumbled angrily, speed dialing Gibbs and getting out of the car.

He caught up with her across the street, near the door Holden had entered less than a minute ago. Pocketing his phone and informing her the cavalry was on its way, they heard a sound coming from behind the closed door. She grabbed the front of his shirt and roughly pulled him against her, while backing up against the wall. As they heard the door handle move, her left hand went to the back of his hand and pulled him towards her so their mouths collided.

The sudden sensation of feeling her lips on his left him stunned for a second. He’d fantasized about roughly kissing her against a wall since he first met her a month ago. That, and a lot of other tantalizing scenarios. Many of them involving far fewer clothes. None of them involving scumbags who sold humans for some extra pocket money, standing a few feet away from them.

It wasn’t long before his brain caught up with her line of thinking, though. Pretending to be a couple making out would buy them a little time to assess the situation. Particularly if multiple suspects were to leave the warehouse right now. As he sucked on her lower lip and moved his left hand into her loose curls, he was thankful he had been partnered with Ziva on this stakeout and not Gibbs or McGee.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Holden step out onto the pavement just a few feet away from them. As the door closed with a thud, nobody exiting the building after Holden, Ziva moaned into Tony’s mouth and directed his head towards her neck. Kissing down her jaw line he could feel her head move into the direction of Holden.

He vaguely registered her asking “Would you like to join us?” in a sultry voice, followed by a chuckle from Holden to his right. The chuckle turned into a surprised yelp at the same time his lips lost contact with the soft skin of Ziva’s neck. Looking at the scene to his right he tried to grasp what had just happened. Apparently Ziva had managed to knock Holden unconscious in less than 2 seconds and was now cuffing his hands behind his back.

“Help me put him in the trunk,” she whispered.

“What?”

His brain still struggled to catch up with what was happening. Watching her start to drag Holden in the direction of the car, not too gently, made him come to his senses again. Picking him up by the other arm, they dragged him towards the car and locked him in the trunk.

“Is locking suspects in the trunk of a car common Mossad procedure?” he asked, trying to alleviate the tension building inside him.

“It is common sense. He will not be able to contact anyone or run away,” she said in a flat tone, already making her way back to the warehouse, gun at the ready. He quickly fell into step beside her, unholstering his own weapon.

As Ziva took position on one side of the door she waited for Tony to get ready at the other side and tried desperately to push back the images and feelings of rage of her first official Mossad operation. Her team of three had been ordered to take out a terrorist group that was planning an attack in Tel Aviv. Working their way through the compound they had come across a locked room, holding 8 teenage girls. The horrors they had gone through had been written all over their faces. And bodies. After that discovery the three of them made sure the remaining terrorists paid with more than their lives for what they had done to the girls.

A curt nod from Tony signaled he was ready and they quietly entered the warehouse. Despite all the bickering and teasing between Tony and her the past month, when a situation in the field called for it, they worked together like a well-oiled machine. This time was no different as they cleared the first 3 rooms.

Moving further into the warehouse they could hear sobbing and the occasional outcry of pain. Despite the very dim lighting, Tony could clearly see a change in Ziva’s demeanor which made his gut churn. He tried to signal to her that he would take lead, but she was already moving away from him as fast and quiet as possible. She didn’t wait for him before barging through the door where the cries were coming from.

On instinct he yelled “federal agents”, knowing full-well Ziva wouldn’t bother with such details, but also knowing that failing to identify themselves could lead to a world of pain in court. The words had barely left his mouth when several gunshots rang through the warehouse.

When he entered the room, he quickly assessed the situation; 3 bruised and battered girls crying in the corner, one suspect with a bullet hole in his head and a knife in his hand next to them. The only real danger came from Ziva; her right boot firmly planted between the legs of a guy flat on his back on the filthy floor—crying and begging for mercy while clutching a bloody shoulder—her gun pointed straight at the guys head, finger on the trigger. It was the murderous look on her face, however, that spurred him into action.

“Officer David! That’s not how we do things at NCIS.”

If she killed him point blank in front of him, her liaison position would be terminated, because as much as he enjoyed having her around, he wasn’t going to lie in his report. Not about what would essentially be an assassination. Whether the suspect deserved it or not.

He saw her blink and grind her teeth.

“Then perhaps you should step outside for a minute,” she calmly suggested, never taking her eyes of the pitiful excuse of a human at her feet.

The man on the ground whimpered and begged Tony to stay. When they heard commotion coming from the front of the warehouse, he saw Ziva’s rigid stance relax only a fraction. Just enough to reassure Tony she wasn’t going to pull the trigger after all.

“Looks like the cavalry arrived just in time to save your ass,” he said looking the man square in the eye. “Then again, there’s always interrogation later. That’s where Officer David’s qualities really shine,” he continued, malice dripping from his voice.

Ziva smirked when the suspect whipped his head toward her with terror in his eyes, shaking his head frantically. Taking her finger of the trigger, she put all of her weight on her right foot, making the man cry out in pain. When Tony gave her a half-hearted look of disapproval, she innocently said, “What? I lost my balance.”

He pursed his lips and refused to look at her. As senior field agent, this wasn’t exactly behavior he should encourage or approve of, but he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t something he would’ve liked to have done himself.

About a minute later, Gibbs entered the room, took a quick look around and head slapped Ziva. Tony was surprised to see her startle despite her ninja senses, and he briefly wondered whether his boss had lost his mind, slapping a highly trained Mossad officer over the head.

“This was supposed to be a stakeout, David. Absolutely no contact!”

For emphasis, he glared at her in his trademark fashion. Even though, he’d noticed early on it never really had the same effect on the Mossad officer as it did on his other team members, it still got his point across.

Turning to look at the young girls cowering in the corner, tears running down their faces, he quietly added, “Rule 18. It's better to seek forgiveness than ask permission.”

He turned to look at her again, gave her a little nod and began barking out orders to the back up team and paramedics he’d brought with him.

***

While Gibbs had decided to go to the hospital with the suspect Ziva had shot, he’d given them the OK to take Holden in for questioning. Initially, Ziva had insisted Holden was just fine in the trunk of their car, but the incredulous look Tony had given her made it clear she was already on thin ice. In a not so gentle fashion she’d helped Tony put Holden in the back seat before driving off to the Navy Yard.

“This can’t have been your first stakeout,” Tony more stated than asked, while getting into the elevator behind Ziva and Holden. “What do Mossad officers usually do during stakeouts to relax, seeing as you were so offended by my attempts at making small talk?”

She gave him an exasperated look.

“Seriously, you’re about as much fun as Gibbs on a stakeout.” Then he smirked and continued, “but at least you’re easier on the eyes. And you don’t smell like saw dust and bourbon.”

Ziva could hear Holden inhale deeply through his nose at Tony’s last comment and it took all of her will power not to punch him in the kidney from disgust. She almost redirected her anger to Tony but realized just in time he’d been radiating tension ever since leaving the warehouse. Still feeling on edge after the earlier bust, she opted for their usual banter instead of more bickering.

“We relax _after_ the stakeout, Tony. And that rarely involves talking.”

He did a double take, wondering what exactly ‘relaxing without talking’ entailed for Mossad officers.

“Please tell me that doesn’t involve weapons.”

The corner of her mouth quirked upwards as she kept her eyes on Holden’s back.

“It usually doesn’t even involve clothes.”

The elevator dinged open just as Holden was turning his head towards them, mouth slightly agape. She grabbed one of his arms, which were still cuffed behind his back, and forcefully pushed him out of the elevator. As she glanced back at Tony with a glint in her eye, she was taken aback by the predatory look on his face. _I guess he does not disapprove of all Mossad methods_ , she thought, feeling a different kind of tension take hold of her body.

***

Before they could even begin questioning Holden, Gibbs had called Tony, ordering them to wait with the interrogation until the next day, and get some rest while he put pressure on the other suspect in the hospital.

Ziva had argued with Tony, saying it was a mistake; other girls could be at risk while they sat around waiting for Gibbs, but he hadn’t budged. Eventually she had stormed out of the office furiously. She’d been driving around aimlessly for an hour, when she found herself parked in front of Tony’s apartment building.

Knowing full well she should’ve gone for a run to release the tension and anger before facing Tony again, she walked into the building anyway and knocked on his door. As soon as the door opened, she lashed out.

“Are you happy you stopped me from shooting him? Do you feel good knowing that monster is still breathing, lying in a comfortable hospital bed?”

He scoffed, “I’m not under the illusion that I can stop you from doing anything you want, _Officer David_.” The emphasis on her title and last name made it sound harsher than he had originally intended.

“Do _you_ feel good about not killing him in cold blood?” he shot back.

She blinked slowly, momentarily taken aback by the question.

“There’s a difference between feeling someone deserves to die and actually ending that person’s life.” He looked her straight in the eye. “You could’ve killed him, regardless of what I said. The worst that would’ve happened would’ve been the termination of your position at NCIS. Anything else would’ve been swept under the rug by the higher ups. Heck, Mossad would probably welcome you back with open arms.”

He could see in her eyes that she knew he was right. He also knew he would have to tread carefully to get her to open up to him.

“So tell me,” he continued in a softer tone, “why didn’t you pull the trigger?”

She briefly averted her gaze before answering in a neutral tone, “We needed him alive, to find out more about the trafficking ring.”

He narrowed his eyes, taking in the blank expression on her face, making a mental note never to play poker with her. _Well, maybe strip poker if I wear ten layers_ , he reconsidered.

“Holden was alive,” he said matter-of-factly.

She could feel her body tense, realizing he saw right through her.

“Holden may not have known everything.”

“I think we both know that’s not the real reason.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and averted her gaze. _How could he possibly know the real reason when I am not sure myself_ , she thought, clenching her jaw. A couple of months ago she would’ve pulled the trigger without a second thought. _Why did I hesitate_ , she wondered.

He took a swig from his non-alcoholic beer while taking in her body language. Concluding the conversation was pretty much over—unless he wanted to continue it by himself—he handed her a beer from the fridge and went to sit on the couch. When he saw her close the door behind her and move towards the couch, accepting his unspoken invitation to hang out together, he turned on the TV.

Hearing the sound of the TV come on, she looked up at the screen, then looked him square in the eye, a small smile playing on her lips, “A cartoon?”

“Not just a cartoon, Ziva, a Disney animated movie,” he stated as if that was an explanation.

“If you tell anyone I watch Disney movies I’ll have to kill you.” Taking in her smirk he added, “Or at least die trying.”

She scoffed. “What’s so special about Disney movies?”

He looked at her, eyebrows raised, wondering if she was making fun of him. But then he could see the sincerity in her eyes and he decided to answer honestly.

“They always have a happy ending.”

She took in his answer for a moment and sat down next to him.

“I do not believe in happy endings.”

He turned to look at her with a melancholic look on his face, gave her a soft smile she hadn’t seen before and said, “Maybe you can start believing in them 100 minutes at a time.”

She blinked a couple of times, confused at his change in behavior. This was the first time she had seen him without a mask. And she knew she was falling for him. Hard. And there was nothing she could do about it.

_Except perhaps, ignore it for the time being_ , she thought and then turned her attention towards the screen.

“A fish, Tony?”

She grabbed the DVD case and read the back. “A father looking for his son…seriously?”

He smiled. “Or…a kid getting out from underneath an overbearing father’s thumb, and a group of oddballs teaching it about a different kind of life. A different set of rules.”

Seeing the openness in his eyes and hearing the sincerity in his voice left her dumbfounded. And when his words actually hit home, she gave him a strained smile, turned her attention back to the movie and tried to put her poker face back in place.

***

She had relaxed considerably during the movie, laughing and rolling her eyes, mostly at Tony’s antics. She yawned and stretched as the credits rolled and he couldn’t help but stare at the exposed skin where her shirt rode up.

She caught him staring and said, “Take a picture, it will last longer.”

He didn’t bother to look the least bit ashamed and replied, “A couple of inches aren’t exactly worth a picture, Ziva.”

“Does that mean I will not need a camera when you drop your pants?” she smirked.

“I’d be insulted, but I couldn’t help but notice you used the word ‘when’, not ‘if’,” he leered.

He leaned in close to her ear and whispered in a husky voice, “Unless you’re screwing up your English again, that opens up a world of possibilities where I show you more than a couple of inches.”

When he drew back enough to look at her, he was surprised to see his own desire reflected in her eyes. His lips parted slightly as he briefly glanced at her mouth, then focused his attention on her eyes again. He felt his blood rush south when he saw her copy his movement and the tip of her tongue wet her lips. He swallowed audibly.

“You know, ever since you joined NCIS, you’ve had to do all the adjusting. Maybe it’s time I returned the favor.”

She frowned, not seeing how that had anything to do with the tension that was quickly building between them.

“Earlier…you mentioned something about Mossad officers relaxing after a stakeout…” His eyes darted all over her face as he brushed a stray lock of curls away. “If it makes you feel more at home, I’d be more than happy to follow your tradition for a change.”

She would’ve seen that coming if his proximity and intoxicating scent hadn’t been that much of a distraction. If she was honest with herself, that was one of the reasons he had gotten on her nerves in the car before Holden showed up. That and the sound of his voice. Drowning out what he was saying was easy enough, but that didn’t change the effect the sound of his voice sometimes had on her. She knew that low, gravelly tone, his face mere inches from hers, would be her undoing if she didn’t put an end to things right now.

“I thought there was a rule against that?”

“Technically we wouldn’t be breaking rule 12 as we’re not dating.” He could feel the air around them vibrate with possibility.

“I am not sure Gibbs would see it that way,” she said in a low voice as she moved her body closer to his involuntarily.

“I’ve a feeling it would be worth a thousand head slaps,” he countered with confidence, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

His nose gently bumped hers as she chuckled. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her nose, the scent of the cologne that had enveloped her in the car had been replaced by the more subtle earthy smell of the scented soap he seemed to use in the shower.

“Well, Gibbs did mention rule 18 earlier...” she added, before giving in to her desire and closing what little distance was left between them.

 


End file.
